


Smoke Without the Fire

by TheIndianWinter



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gen, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies, repairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-21 17:22:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3700763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIndianWinter/pseuds/TheIndianWinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though he knew it was not his Thorin that had held him above certain death, it was still difficult to separate those mad, dark eyes from the bright ones that had looked upon him before they stepped foot into this accursed mountain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke Without the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> I began this is January as what was initially part of what was going to be a much longer story, but I liked it as it ended here.

For all their secretive nature, dwarrows love recklessly, fiercely and deeply; as passionate as the hottest flames of the forge and as enduring as the hardest stones of the mountain.

Hobbits are, by their nature, rather more cautious creatures.

Their love takes time, like the blooming of a flower or the changing of the leaves. That doesn't lessen their love, or make it any less wonderful, but it does mean they are less inclined to blindly forgive their beloved.

Which explained why, after communicating his initial relief that the dwarf king hadn't died from his wounds, Bilbo had taken to avoiding Thorin.

And for reasons unknown to Bilbo, Thorin was, according to Balin, extremely unhappy about this.

The Company didn't understand though. Bofur, who knew how Bilbo felt, had blinked in confusion as Bilbo explained this to him.

"But you love him!" he had argued.

"I can't just forgive him!" Bilbo replied. "He threatened to kill me."

"But you love him," Bofur said again, this time helplessly.

For all that they held grudges, dwarrows forgave loved ones easily, Bilbo was coming to understand. They did not love easily so when they did, they were scared of losing them.

The idea was utterly alien to him; as a child he had been assured in the belief that his parents were utterly devoted to one another, and they were, but once his mother had said something harsh and cold in her anger and his father had only smiled again after several days when his mother apologised sincerely. It wasn’t unusual for his mother to be curt, for she was a wild spirit, yet that sometimes caused her to clash with the homely Bungo.

What had happened with Thorin was more than just a few cruel words, it was a death threat and the wound that his heart bore would take more than just a few days to heal.

Even though he knew it was not his Thorin that had held him above certain death, it was still difficult to separate those mad, dark eyes from the bright ones, filled with tender warmth, that had looked upon him before they stepped foot into this accursed mountain.

Yes time was what Bilbo Baggins needed and that, it would seem, was the one luxury which he could not afford.

* * *

Despite the dwarves and lone hobbit now living in its halls, the kingdom of Erebor was eerie with lingering emptiness and in need of much work. Unable to help much in matters of stone, Bilbo busied himself in the kitchens with Bombur, their warmth finally banishing some of the chill that had clung to it ever since he had stepped foot through the secret door in the mountainside.

Bombur was a dwarf of few words, which Bilbo found suited him greatly. He found himself rather subdued, even when faced with the merry air of victory that pervaded the moods of most, now that the dead had been buried on their souls carried deep into the Halls of Mahal.

One day, as Biblo stood beside Bombur, chopping the carrots for a beef casserole, the dwarf coughed awkwardly and set down his blade, turning to Bilbo with a rare look of complete seriousness in his eyes.

“I talked to Bofur last night,” he began, slowly, unsurely. “We spoke of you. We’re worried Mr Baggins; you’re not happy.”

Bilbo felt a warmth stir in his chest at his friends words, “Bombur how many times must I insist you call me Bilbo?”

“Once more, as ever.”

After a brief moments pause, Bombur spoke again.

“I want you to know that I, at least, do not begrudge you for avoiding our king.” Bombur’s face was kind, though he did not smile, and his gaze was steady and unwavering when Bilbo dared meet it. “He hurt you deeply, damaged your friendship possibly beyond repair and such things cannot be brushed aside, even in the name of love.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to speak, but his words halted in his throat at a choked sob. He blinked back tears, smiling wryly.

“Why does it seem all of you know about my...regard for Thorin?”

Bombur chuckled, “Why Bilbo has none told you how obvious you are?”

At Bilbo’s panicked squeak, Bombur stopped to pat his shoulder reassuringly. “Never fear, in these matters I can assure you he is oblivious.”

A breath he did not realise he had been holding escaped him in relief.

“I can speak only for myself and Bofur and Bifur, though I am certain the others suspect.”

Nodding in understanding, Bilbo returned to his own work and the two continued their work in silence. He could not have borne it if Thorin had known; how silly he must seem, the simple, fussy hobbit in love with a great dwarf king.

Except, he wasn’t that simple, fussy hobbit that had left the comfort of Bag-End anymore.

He who had fought orc and goblins, he who had braved the depths of the Misty Mountains and the gloom of Mirkwood, he who had become a beloved member of a company of thirteen dwarrows, he who had fallen madly in love with an aloof, infuriating, wonderful King.

Yes, it would be a different Bilbo Baggins that left for the Shire when Spring bloomed upon the Lonely Mountain.

“People think because dwarrows are loud and often brash, they are strangers to subtlety,” Bombur said after a while.

Bilbo snorted, “I can certainly vouch for that point of view. I remember once when my humble home was descended upon by thirteen very loud, very rude dwarrows.”

Bombur joined in his chuckles and when their laughter had sobered, he spoke once more.

“Love is not always in the big grand gestures dwarves favour, not in our fancy gifts or bold statements,” Bombur paused for a moment, licking his lips as he searched for the words he wanted. “Love is in the little things; the look in your eyes when you think no-one sees you, the spending hours at his side until he awoke, the way you say his name as if it were the answer to the only question that ever mattered.”

The russet-haired dwarves lips were curled in a soft smile and Bilbo recalled at that moment that he had a wife and three children back in Ered Luin. Bombur had love, so he knew, he knew love when he saw it. Saw his own love mirrored in the eyes of their dear burglar.

“What I mean to say is that it’s not the case Bofur fears, that you will not forgive him, but it’s a matter of time, and now, now it’s a raw pain and it needs time to heal, needs time for Thorin to earn your forgiveness.”

As Bombur spoke, Bilbo had stopped, vision blurred by the tears of relief that there was at least someone who understood. He had no words for that though, they all snarled up in his throat, inadequate to express his gratitude to Bombur in that moment, so instead he laughed thickly.

“I think that’s the most I heard you speak. I never realised you were so eloquent.”

Bombur laughed, returning to the carrots, “Well we are full of surprises, as I’m sure you’re well aware. And one has plenty of time for reflection whilst looking into the depths of a soup pot.”

They finished preparing the evening’s meal in a companionable silence and the ease of understanding relaxed the tension in Bilbo’s shoulders somewhat.

* * *

At dinner that night, he could feel Thorin’s gaze boring into him as he chatted with Bofur and Kíli though he steadily ignored it. He was not ready to speak to Thorin yet, those blue eyes, no longer dark with madness, still caused a slight unease in his stomach. With some annoyance, he noted that they still sent lightning through his veins and thusly, the entire right side of him was positively burning.

Though that was nothing compared to the knot that twisted in his stomach when he appeared before him.

“Bil-” Thorin began hoarsely, then cut himself off. “Mr Baggins, I would speak with you after dinner, if you please.”

Bilbo nodded and passed the remainder of the dinner in silence, unable to offer up much more than a pained smile when Kíli decided to play the clown in an effort to cheer him.

Thorin had not called him by his first name and he did not know why it pained him so. Well he did, it was both of them that had broken them and it was both of them who had to make efforts to fix it.

* * *

Bilbo made his way along the unfamiliar corridor that lead to Thorin’s quarters, his stomach heavy and the newness of his surroundings a cloying reminder that they had not spoken since Thorin had awoken well over a month earlier.

Steeling himself, he knocked upon the door and entered when he was bid to.

Thorin smiled when he saw him, then seemed to catch himself and it quickly turned to a frown.

“Mr Baggins, do take a seat.”

There was his surname again. He approached the armchairs by the warm hearth, but did not sit down, instead he turned to Thorin determinedly.

“I would like to apologise,” he started, holding up his hand when the dwarf opened his mouth to argue. “For my theft of the Arkenstone. I am not sorry for it, my intentions were honourable and I did it for your sake, but I am sorry it came at the cost of our friendship.”

A heavy, warm hand landed on his shoulder, “Bilbo… Bilbo look at me.”

Those blue eyes were piercing and beautiful, love and pain all at once.

“It is already forgiven. I...I was not myself. Your actions helped bring me back and for that I thank you.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’?” he managed, though the wry tone he had hoped for was lost to something rather more strangled.

“But there was still an echo of myself in that monster that held you above certain death, and for that I dare not ask your forgiveness.”

“You do not have it.”

Thorin’s eyes dropped from his and he looked so crestfallen, it caused Bilbo’s heart to wrench painfully.

“That is not to say you never will, but you have to earn it. It is not in my nature to do otherwise. Do you understand?”

He nodded slowly, bringing his gaze up to meet Bilbo’s again, his blue eyes now wide an earnest.

“Then tell me what you wish for, and it is yours.”

“This is not a matter of things Thorin,” Bilbo sighed, “But a matter of repairing what once was. We have been through too much together to part as less than friends.”

“Aye, we have,” he sounded strained. “So you are still to leave with the coming of Spring then?”

“I cannot stay here, much as it is your home, Bag-End is mine.”

“You will always be welcome in the Lonely Mountain, I hope you know that.”

Bilbo nodded, unable to stop his smile, because it was nice to hear it all the same.

Such a thing was most certainly not going to make parting any easier.

It had to be done for Bag-End was home, it was where he belonged.

Though he seemed to have to remind himself of it a lot more lately.


End file.
